You just doubled the size of your essay in about three seconds.
You get an A for
You’ve done the sniff test.
Sure, while shuffling through a mish-mashed drawer of balled up sweatsocks and stained undershirts a few minutes ago you started panicking when you thought there was nothing left. Soon your mind started racing into Plan B’s and C’s:
1. Rock the commando. Should you just skip underwear altogether? After all, it seems to be what the fates are telling you. On the plus side, you can leave the house right away and avoid being late for work. On the down side, zippers.
2. Pull a dirty pair out of the basket. Maybe you’re scoffing now, but we know you been there, too. Hey, sometimes you can totally justify it to yourself: “It’s probably air-dried itself clean by now”, “I didn’t sweat the day I wore these”, or the classic, “I know, I’ll just wear them inside out. I am a genius.”
4. Go buy some. Unless you’re living in the remote rocky outskirts of a distant mining town, camping up north at a lakeside cabin, or getting changed after hours, there are decent odds a local discount chain has a plastic-wrapped three-pack with your name on it.
Yeah, it’s a stressful scene when the clock’s clicking, the baby’s crying, and you’re running late for work while running around pantsless. But that’s why it’s sweet when you keep digging and digging and digging and digging and eventually unearth a terribly twisted, torn and tattered, mothball-smelling pair of ratty old underwear you haven’t worn in years.
Suddenly your private one-liner is granted objective joke-telling credibility. Way to hold court in the bank lineup, crack up the ladies behind the sandwich counter, or leave the old guys at the urinals in stitches.
Way to walk in here and get everybody laughing.
Way to walk in here and get everybody feeling
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“Do you realize how dangerous revolving doors are?” he began, with big popping eyes, concerned eyebrows, and a thick foamstache on his upper lip from the cappuccino he was sipping. “I mean, I’m surprised they’re actually left unguarded in public. Don’t you think it’s a miracle more limbs aren’t lost in those things? Crack, there goes your ankle in the doorjam. Smack, there goes your face against that unrelenting wall of glass.”
He nodded his head in little bobs while staring at the napkin dispenser deep in thought.
“I honestly think I might stop using them altogether…while I still can.”
I flashed him a thin, understanding smile while silently worrying he was becoming a bit too paranoid. What’s next, I wondered – boycotting shoelaces, avoiding escalators, carrying a pocket thermometer to dip into drinks before sipping?
Because let’s be honest. Revolving doors are part of life: they came, they’re here, they ain’t going anywhere, you know? Sure, using them safely is important. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy them. After all, it’s pretty sweet coasting through one of them… especially when you don’t have to push:
1. Catching a draft. Someone’s in front of you so their pushing gets the door moving. Just watch out, though — since they leave the door before you, it’ll generally slow down fast before you get out. But be patient and let the door turn slowly, friend. You’ll make it.
2. The Invisible Force. Here’s where nobody’s around but the door is spinning like mad. Clearly some beefy strongman just whipped it into a frenzy while rushing to catch the bus or something. This spinning beauty sort of resembles that big wheel on The Price is Right whenever a guy from the army sent it flying. Careful getting in and then enjoy the speedy ride.
4. Sharing the pie. This is Matt’s worst nightmare. Here’s where you squeeze into the door right behind one of your friends. While they push you try to awkwardly speedwalk so the door doesn’t clip your heels.
Going through a revolving door without having the push feels like catching the rhythm of the universe. Entering, exiting, it doesn’t matter — nope, you just rode the wave of life without crashing into mess of bloody foreheads and shattered wrists.
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Take off my pyjamas. Put a shirt on me. Pull up my pants. Do up my zipper. Tie my shoes. Make me breakfast. Wash my hands. Put me in the car seat. Buckle me up. Blow my nose. Turn on the TV. Change the video. Change the video. Change the video. Take me to the store. Buy me a toy. Buy me lunch.
Give me a sucker. Stick it in my mouth. Pick it up off the floor. Clean off the dirt. Play with me. Make me laugh. Cook me supper. Put me in my chair. Cut up my food. Put it on my fork. Stick it in my mouth. Wipe it off my chin. Carry me upstairs. Sing me a song.
It’s a tiny paper-wrapped bar of soap, mesh bag of gold coin chocolates, Teddy Bear dressed as a Buckingham Palace guard, little foam shoe shiner thing, clicky-pen with a conference logo printed on it, mini bottle of maple syrup, matches from a really good restaurant, bedroom door nameplate with slightly incorrect spelling, stack of shiny Niagara Falls postcards, single-serve room service Ketchup bottles, XL T-shirt with ‘Cincinnati Cares!’ printed across it, or one of those rocks that are cut in half and all purple and sparkly in the middle.
How did you know?
Since Emperor Nero sent slaves into the mountains for ice to mix with honey and nuts two thousand years ago, we’ve all enjoyed cooling off with big bowls of the sweet and icy treat.
Yup, Arabs started adding milk to the mixture a thousand years later, the Chinese invented an ice cream maker, and our friends in France were first to write it down in a cookbook. Basically, everybody around Team Planet contributed to the unparalleled levels of creamy deliciosity we get to enjoy today.
Nowadays maybe you get your fix when the soccer team screams at mom from the back of the station wagon till she peels into the Dairy Queen parking lot. Or maybe you sneak down to the basement freezer for a few sneaky spoonfuls after bedtime.
Or maybe you actually catch a truck.
You know how it goes.
Scribbling on your stomach in your bedroom, playing Bubble Bobble with your brother in the basement, throwing baseballs around the backyard, your ears suddenly perk up to the sound of a distant and familiar jingling.
Eyeballs pop, eyebrows raise, and big smiles curl on your face because now the race is on.
Booming down the hall, bouncing down the stairs, you scramble for spare change as those jingling bells get louder and louder and louder. Forget socks, forget shoes, forget closing the front door — it’s time to blast out of the house and risk the Burning Blackfoot as you sprint as fast as you can down the street towards that slow-wheeling, rainbow-colored truck…
Can’t you just taste it?
You waited a long time.
Cruising backwards in your baby seat, strapped into your toddler chair, sharing the bench with your little brother on those long drives downtown, you spent years putting up with child locks, bad views, and barf bags.
So when you finally get to ride in the front seat you deserve a big congratulations.
You just got promoted to adult.
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Floors creak and doors squeak as furnaces click and ticking clocks tick. Fridges hum and oven burners pop as garage doors close and footsteps flip flop.
Sometimes it sounds like there’s a monster hiding deep in the darkness of your room.
Blind and alone, scared on your own, your ears crank it up and hear every little sound: Are those fingernails scratching the floor? Is that breathing from under the bed? And is that gurgling coming from the closet?
So you hold your breath and dive under the covers. You freeze and don’t make a sound. You stay still and just pray for tomorrow. You stay still and pray nothing’s around.
But if those creaks don’t stop creaking and those pops don’t stop popping you’re only left with one big option: Sit up and scream for your life.
That’s when mom or dad charges into your room, flicks on all the lights, and checks everywhere monsters could be hiding. Flashlights poke around closet corners and search missions are conducted under the bed. Eventually, empty closets and open floors all confirm that you’re gonna live through the night.
So let your eyes bug back in, let your your sweaty bangs dry, and let your heartbeats slow right down. You’re going to be just fine and now it’s time to relax into those cool and crumpled sheets, flip to the other side of the pillow, and smile and fade into a calm and dreamy night.
Bouncing beltless in the backseat you’re zooming down dark streets, slick roads, and slippery lanes. Doesn’t matter if you’re cabbing back from cards, hitting the downtown bars hard, or flying home for a quick recharge. Nope, the only thing that matters is if your cabbie knows the secret sidestreet shortcuts that shave a couple minutes off your ride.
Yes, today we salute all the Cab Drivers of the World who swerve and curve down one-way streets, hidden on-ramps, and tight alleys like champions.
Thanks for making us feel like we’re in an action movie.
Thanks for making us feel